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His smile should be disarming, but it’s nightmare fuel. I don’t doubt this man could kill me a thousand different ways, and I wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to stop him.
“Don’t test me, Skye. I’m not a patient man.” His gaze lifts to over my head. “Put her in one of the rooms for now. We’ll talk after you rest.” He says the last part to me.
Saliva pools in my mouth. What are ‘the rooms’? Are they torture chambers? My gaze darts to Rage, pleading with him to stop this. “Please.”
He looks torn as he scrubs a hand over his jaw.
“No one’s gonna lay a finger on you,” he promises, but I’m not sure this situation is his to control anymore. “Just don’t fight, okay?”
Realising I’m completely alone in this, I sag in the arms of the man behind me. “Keep your feet, darlin’.”
“I’ll take her,” Rage says, his face a mask I can’t read.
“You sure?”
“I brought her here. She’s my problem.”
A problem… that’s all I’ll ever be. I was a problem for my father because I wasn’t a boy. How he wanted desperately a son to take the throne after he dies. I was a problem for Scarlett, and for Tommy. They both expected me to be the good girl who toed the line, and Scarlett hated me for loving Tommy and being loved back by him. Now, I’m a problem for Rage.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out what’s happening around me, but I have to open them quickly when my bicep is grabbed. Rage’s fingers aren’t gentle, but they’re not hard either as he tugs me to get my feet moving.
I glance at the women as I pass them. There’s no softness there anymore, no sympathy. They hold the babies closer, and the older kids are kept behind them, as if I’m dangerous.
My name inspires fear in them.
So does theirs. I’ve mourned the men who died fighting this club. Closed caskets, some were too fucked-up, they couldn’t be buried at all and had to be cremated. These people aren’t innocent in this war either.
Rage tugs me, and I stumble over my feet as he guides me to a door. As we push through it and into a long corridor, my fear climbs another notch.
“What are you doing?” I try to twist away from him, but I’m no match for his strength.
“I don’t know why you’re pissed off. You’re the one who lied. You put us in this position.”
He continues to frogmarch me up the corridor, passing multiple closed doors. I try not to let the fear consume me, but it’s churning through me, heightening my nausea.
I want this nightmare to end.
As bad as things were at home, at least I knew Scarlett. She hated me, but I knew she would never kill me. Rage, I’m not so sure about.
I try to swallow around the dryness in my mouth, but my tongue feels too thick and wrong as Rage opens a door near the stairs. There’s not time to process anything before he tugs me inside and flicks on the lights. The room is illuminated, and only then does he release me.
I stumble away from him, my gaze roaming around the room. I expect to see chains and torture devices, not a double bed made up with dark blue bedding. There are bedside tables either side, a lamp on each, and a tall dresser against one wall. A small two-seater sofa is against the wall adjacent to the bed, a crocheted blanket draped over the back. It seems oddly domestic considering where I am, but I’m so relieved, I don’t think too hard about it.
Rage locks the door behind him before walking over to the curtains and dragging them open. I’m not sure if the bars on the window are designed to keep someone in or stop someone getting out.
I shudder, trying not to think about why they need bars in the first place.
Rage peers through the window before going to another door and opening it. I glimpse the bathroom suite as he glances around then pulls it closed again.
There’s a weird moment as our eyes connect. I can see how disturbed he is by all of this, but I don’t feel an ounce of sympathy for him.
“I came here for your help.” There is accusation in my tone.
“You knew I was club,” he fires back. “You still came here anyway. Why? Is Howler right? Are you here to spy?”
I guess Howler must be the guy with the President patch on his vest. His name is just as stupid as Rage’s, but I hold that thought to myself. I’m not exactly on friendly ground here.
“Do you think my father is stupid enough to send his daughter to spy on people who would kill her?”
